SurVision Magazine
An
international online magazine that
publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
Issue
Nine
DAN RAPHAEL
Housebody
sometimes my eyes
don't think
what's coming towards us is possible
from the east window i smell rosemary
down the hall i smell coffee
the dappled light on the ceiling
tempts me to outline with a sharpie
this is a day i kneel
getting in or out of a chair
my table is set with small shovels and digging forks
vines growing out of the stove's burners
the flies of fire are too evasive
spiders weaving ankle height doorway twine
outer door on a time lock
the windows are too clean to have glass
eventually all my furniture will fold
into a floor, wall or ceiling
if my second floor is now the first
what's upstairs
i thought i went outside
but was in someone else's house
wind visor, sun mask, rain goggles or night shades
i halved and hollowed a cabbage for headphones
my fresh pasta shirt, corn husk slacks
the closet in the closet
is a buttonless elevator
stairs a conveyor belt
taking me up the silo of work
to plummet the gap of what's not been done
what's coming towards us is possible
from the east window i smell rosemary
down the hall i smell coffee
the dappled light on the ceiling
tempts me to outline with a sharpie
this is a day i kneel
getting in or out of a chair
my table is set with small shovels and digging forks
vines growing out of the stove's burners
the flies of fire are too evasive
spiders weaving ankle height doorway twine
outer door on a time lock
the windows are too clean to have glass
eventually all my furniture will fold
into a floor, wall or ceiling
if my second floor is now the first
what's upstairs
i thought i went outside
but was in someone else's house
wind visor, sun mask, rain goggles or night shades
i halved and hollowed a cabbage for headphones
my fresh pasta shirt, corn husk slacks
the closet in the closet
is a buttonless elevator
stairs a conveyor belt
taking me up the silo of work
to plummet the gap of what's not been done
When
I Get Out
where
the door came from
when the door came to
some days the window wants to melt with laughter
some days the window opaques in defiance
i guess that foot is mine 'cause i feel the same rug
i called my other foot, went straight to voice mail
don't talk to me about hands
don't point out language
or sing about silence
how flat faces have such odd expressions
the difference between folds and wrinkles
when cheekbones can no longer move
when my chin doesn't want to go first
like a hair sandwich without a hat
a bald head that transmits and won't reflect
my arm stretches further than possible
considering all it has to go through
not asking permission or waiting for change
i'm layered like a city:
sewage and water
copper bones, fiber nerves
my skin must be sky since there's none of me above it
two huge lung clouds in the middle of everything
my lips respect each other's boundaries
teeth of various demeanors
this tongue disconnects and wanders
i get to my mouth's back door
and can't decide if i'm solid or gas
if turning around's an option
when the door came to
some days the window wants to melt with laughter
some days the window opaques in defiance
i guess that foot is mine 'cause i feel the same rug
i called my other foot, went straight to voice mail
don't talk to me about hands
don't point out language
or sing about silence
how flat faces have such odd expressions
the difference between folds and wrinkles
when cheekbones can no longer move
when my chin doesn't want to go first
like a hair sandwich without a hat
a bald head that transmits and won't reflect
my arm stretches further than possible
considering all it has to go through
not asking permission or waiting for change
i'm layered like a city:
sewage and water
copper bones, fiber nerves
my skin must be sky since there's none of me above it
two huge lung clouds in the middle of everything
my lips respect each other's boundaries
teeth of various demeanors
this tongue disconnects and wanders
i get to my mouth's back door
and can't decide if i'm solid or gas
if turning around's an option
Dan Raphael is from Portland, Oregon. Recent work appears in Phantom Drift, Lamplit Underground, synchronized chaos, Ginosko, and eratio. His poetry collection, Maps Menus Emanations, has just been published by Cyberwit.
